


in time the sun's gonna shine

by flirtygaybrit



Series: such recovery [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre's always known that he'd have to tell Enjolras, and until now he's only toyed with the idea, but now he finds himself unable to think about anything else. The curiosity about what Enjolras might say was a fleeting feeling at first, while he was wrapped up in the novelty of Grantaire and the thing between them; then it was smothered, briefly, when he agreed to Grantaire's insistence that Enjolras be left out of it, but now guilt coils in his stomach and it's for this reason that he drinks his coffee a bit faster and tries to ignore the sudden flare of nervousness.</p><p>"What if I told you I was seeing somebody?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	in time the sun's gonna shine

Combeferre spends a lot of time with Enjolras. He sticks close to Enjolras' side in the company of the rest of their friends (mostly out of habit), calls him when his surgeries go less than well, lets Enjolras convince him to attend the occasional political rally, and occasionally finds himself making a meal out of pastries and coffee with varied amounts of espresso shots while Enjolras quietly reads the paper in a cafe a few blocks away from the hospital that Combeferre works at.

He finds himself there now with Enjolras, a little over an hour before he's due at the hospital, and he plans to tell Enjolras the truth. Sort of. It's taken him quite some time to really decide what to do, where to tell him, whether to tell Grantaire about his plan before or tell him once he's received Enjolras' reaction - that was the easy part. Combeferre's always known that he'd have to tell Enjolras, and until now he's only toyed with the idea, but now he finds himself unable to think about anything else. The curiosity about what Enjolras might say was a fleeting feeling at first, while he was wrapped up in the novelty of Grantaire and the thing between them; then it was smothered, briefly, when he agreed to Grantaire's insistence that Enjolras be left out of it, but now guilt coils in his stomach and it's for this reason that he drinks his coffee a bit faster and tries to ignore the sudden flare of nervousness.

"What if I told you I was seeing somebody?"  
  
If Combeferre was talking to anybody else, like Courfeyrac or Joly, his casual statement might elicit a reaction straight out of a movie, complete with dramatic mid-sip pauses, but Enjolras has never been one to stop what he's doing in the middle of conversation, no matter what sort of sudden emotion it causes, so he continues sipping from his coffee cup and maintains direct eye contact with Combeferre all the while.  
  
"Really," Enjolras murmurs, more to his coffee cup than to Combeferre. He smiles a little, watching Combeferre with heightened interest. "Hypothetically, right?" Combeferre nods and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the polished cafe table, eyes shining with curiosity. It's a rare expression of Enjolras' that Combeferre would like to take a picture of and frame, if only to keep around to show other people, especially Grantaire; people tend to think that Enjolras is dismissive of the personal affairs of his friends, or even entirely oblivious to them, and it's the most ridiculous thing Combeferre's heard in his life.  
  
"Then hypothetically, I would say that I'm happy for you," Enjolras replies. Combeferre sees little sense in lying to Enjolras (at least, outright) - so he smiles gratefully, and Enjolras knows without saying a word that their conversation is no longer purely hypothetical.  
  
Combeferre's known Enjolras for most of his life, and in fact, for some time they didn't really get along. Enjolras is a few years younger and Combeferre was - well, perhaps not overly mature for his age, but certainly more reserved than most children, and where Enjolras was eager to tumble in the grass and wrestle with his peers and rebel against the authority of his parents and teachers and burn off excess energy until he lay exhausted on the pavement, Combeferre was more prone to spinning off wild and colourful fantasies, devouring and regurgitating knowledge in that way only a child can about the undeniable existence of the powerful Greek gods and convincing anyone who would listen that if you could combine robotics with biology (he didn't know then about prosthetic limbs, but he was a quick learner) then you held the entire fate of human evolution in your bionic hands.  
  
Combeferre called Enjolras a brat, Enjolras told Combeferre that his thick glasses made him look like a nerd, and they clashed until one day they didn't; Combeferre's height advantage and vast adolescent knowledge equalled Enjolras' fierceness and curious ability to avoid actual punishment, and when they realized that, they became inseparable.  
  
Enjolras sips at his coffee and lets a moment of silence pass; Combeferre tends to think very carefully about what he's going to say, especially when it's something of importance, and Enjolras knows exactly when to let him reflect on his thoughts; it's the direct opposite of conversations with Grantaire, who is still currently learning how to correctly identify Combeferre's silence as anything other than a bad omen.  
  
Finally, Enjolras says, "So who's going to steal you away from me?" It makes Combeferre laugh, having become a running joke between them, a phrase that playfully suggests they'll only belong to each other until somebody or something else comes around. Enjolras says it every time Combeferre becomes romantically interested in somebody, though they use it for more than just romance; the thief becomes the hospital when Combeferre is called in, becomes the complicated call of social and political justice when Enjolras declines a night out in favor of poring over texts and articles in the library.  
  
Combeferre doesn't like to lie to Enjolras. It's not easy for them to conceal things from one another, and isn't really ever necessary. But Combeferre exhales slowly and scrubs his hand over his jaw, and his heart beats a bit faster no matter how much he wills it not to. So far Combeferre's plan is to simply bounce general ideas off of Enjolras, maybe leave more specific hints and clues if things go positively.

He wishes he'd put more planning into this.  
  
"What if it was somebody you didn't know?"

Enjolras' eyebrows draw together and his smile slowly disappears until he no longer looks glad, but suspicious. Combeferre doesn't raise his hands from where they rest on the table, but he turns them over, supine, a gesture of openness. "Humor me," he says. "Please."  
  
Enjolras nods and sets down his coffee cup. "If you told me that you were dating somebody that you didn't know, I would tell you that you probably won't be dating them for much longer."

Combeferre's romantic relationships have been few and far between, and everyone knows that plays his cards close to his heart. Every person he's dated was a trusted friend at some point, never a stranger, and by association Enjolras had befriended each person who Combeferre expressed interest in. It was even a common thing for people to joke that if someone began dating Combeferre that they would date Enjolras as well. So Combeferre smiles because it's not a threat from Enjolras, just a simple fact, and he knows better than to be offended by it, even if it doesn't exactly  
  
Enjolras is watching Combeferre closely now, waiting for any bit of information that he can get, verbal or physical. Combeferre looks down for a moment and when he glances back up, Enjolras is frowning.  
  
"Tell me it's not a patient," he says, low and serious. Combeferre laughs before he can stop himself, caught completely off guard by Enjolras' sudden seriousness. It helps ease his nerves, if just for a moment. Enjolras sits back and runs his fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh and looking equal parts relieved and exhausted, and far more composed than Combeferre feels right now. He's terrified of Enjolras' reaction, and it must show in his face, or in the way he idly begins to twist a napkin in his hands (it reminds him of Grantaire, always looking for things to do with his hands when he's nervous), or in the way that he isn't really even looking at Enjolras anymore now that he's stopped laughing and the twisting mass of unease has settled in his stomach again, because Enjolras' eyes soften and he offers a sympathetic smile.

"Let's go for a walk," he suggests.

Combeferre thinks it's a great idea.  
  
  
They walk quietly along the street, only meeting the occasional person on the sidewalk. It's more comfortable this way, walking with Enjolras by his side and not feeling like he has to say anything immediately, but something continues to twist uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Their silent trek has lasted nearly ten minutes, which is quite a long period of silence for regular conversations but feels like it's nowhere near enough time for Combeferre to make a real decision. It feels like his conscience is rending itself in half and pulling him in separate directions, and he tries his best to build structured arguments in his head. Telling Enjolras is the right thing to do, but he promised Grantaire that Enjolras wouldn't get involved. Enjolras' opinion won't change how he feels, but he values Enjolras' opinion almost as much as his own.

He can't remember ever having been more indecisive in his life.  
  
"Will you at least tell me if I know this person?" Enjolras asks finally, and Combeferre's thankful that it's the only thing he's asking right now, even though Enjolras' mind is probably working overtime trying to pick up any hints that Combeferre might have dropped and Combeferre knows for sure that Enjolras is burning to ask for a name. Enjolras is just as capable of barking rapid-fire questions as he is capable of asking gently, one question at a time.  
  
Combeferre slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and takes them back out again. He's wearing his glasses and he wants to take them off, to clean them and fold them and unfold them. He thinks again of Grantaire. "You do," he says. Enjolras nods next to him and replies without skipping a beat, "You were going to say something else."  
  
Combeferre doesn't bother arguing. "You know him, but not like I do."  
  
"Not like you do," Enjolras says softly, words overlapping Combeferre's, again speaking more to himself. Combeferre hums affirmatively and wishes suddenly that he'd said something different, or had said nothing at all, even.  
  
Next to him, Enjolras stops walking. When Combeferre looks at him, something changes in his face - his eyebrows, drawn in thought, relax, and his mouth opens slightly, as though he plans to say something, but nothing comes out. This is the cinematic moment of realization that Combeferre's been waiting for; perhaps it's because Combeferre is finding it very tempting to turn around and walk away and leave their conversation before Enjolras can say something, but he finds Enjolras' expression very difficult to read.  
  
It feels like someone hooked their finger around Combeferre's aorta and tugged his heart into his throat.  
  
Enjolras reaches out and places his hands on Combeferre's shoulders and squeezes. It's the most that he can say without words, the most simple gesture of acceptance from Enjolras; Combeferre breathes out in a rush and closes his eyes for a moment, relief crashing over him like a wave and flooding his veins, and when it begins to recede he's left with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, and maybe even a bit of giddiness.  
  
"Don't scare me like that," he says, and he's half-grinning when Enjolras pulls him into a hug, arms tight and protective around him. Enjolras is warm, solid, and comforting, exactly what he needs to be for Combeferre right now, even though he's probably formed a full list of interrogative questions in his head - and even still, Combeferre could not be more thankful for him.  
  
"Scare _you_ like that," Enjolras retorts next to his ear, and he's smiling too when they part, "I haven't seen you this nervous since..." He gestures and Combeferre laughs again, unable to do anything but gaze at him now, so filled with relief that even when Enjolras turns and they begin walking again he finds that he can't stop smiling. He's looking forward to telling Grantaire that everything's going to be fine.  
  
"You know I want to ask," Enjolras says finally. Combeferre's eyes are fixed on some point down the street; he can hear questions in Enjolras voice already, questions about _when_ and  _how_ and _are you happy,_ but Combeferre won't answer yet, not until he's sure that Grantaire's comfortable with sharing details of their relationship with Enjolras, and he's sure that Enjolras will understand.  
  
Combeferre smiles faintly. "I know," he says. He continues to think about Grantaire and his reaction, how they'll be able to kiss each other and laugh and admit that they feel silly for worrying because there was never anything to worry about, really.  
  
When he and Enjolras part ways, Combeferre pulls out his phone and texts Grantaire, _Good news_.

 

Combeferre comes home from the hospital and has no sooner walked through his door than he's called back in for an emergency surgery, which doesn't go quite as well as intended. By the time he crawls into bed (in Grantaire's apartment, instead; despite his place being closer, he'd rather not sleep alone tonight) the sun is due to rise in only a few hours, and he's half surprised to find Grantaire still in bed; his chest doesn't rise and fall with the slow, steady inhale and exhale of sleep when Combeferre checks, but he's a light sleeper and this wouldn't be the first time Combeferre's woken him up by joining him.

"Tell me if you're awake," Combeferre murmurs. He reaches over Grantaire to put his glasses on the nightstand just as Grantaire stirs, settling onto his back and stifling a yawn.

"Time's it?" Grantaire mumbles in reply. He hasn't had a clock in his bedroom for as long as Combeferre's been acquainted with it, blaming the constant reminder of passing time as a source of mild anxiety on occasion. When Combeferre wraps an arm around him he curls in closer, and Combeferre falls asleep with his nose buried in Grantaire's disheveled hair before Grantaire's breathing evens out again.

 

Grantaire's awake and out of bed by the time Combeferre is roused, some time mid-morning. A lifetime of waking up early has ruined Combeferre for sleeping in, even when he needs it, so he finds himself compensating some days with catnaps, and all days with caffeine. He makes his way out of Grantaire's room slowly and emerges, bleary-eyed and blinking against the light in the rest of the apartment that Grantaire's curtains somehow manage to block out.

"You're up early," Grantaire points out; his voice comes from somewhere behind Combeferre as he pads across the creaking floorboards to boil water for coffee, and Combeferre can hear the squeak of the couch when Grantaire pulls himself up from a horizontal position.

Combeferre rubs his eyes and suddenly remembers his glasses, left forgotten on Grantaire's nightstand. Exhaustion makes his limbs feel heavy and it feels like so many other mornings spent in Grantaire and Éponine's apartment. It's better than the place he calls home, some days.

"Yeah," Combeferre replies when Grantaire lets the silence sit between them. "I, uh... Couldn't sleep."

Grantaire makes a sympathetic noise from the couch. "Long night?" He asks. He has what looks like a notebook or a sketchpad on his lap, but Combeferre can't tell if he was drawing or writing or just lying there with it. Combeferre nods and Grantaire waits a moment before asking, "do you want to talk about it?"

Combeferre thinks briefly about Enjolras and how he never asks if Combeferre wants to discuss it anymore, just waits instead for Combeferre to review aloud what he'd done wrong, and what he'd done correctly, and what he wished he'd done differently. It reminds him suddenly of yesterday's conversation, and Combeferre finds himself smiling again while he grabs Grantaire's instant coffee.

"Later," he says distractedly, and turns to Grantaire once he's finished filling his mug, "did you get my message yesterday?"

"Maybe," Grantaire says. He draws his legs up when Combeferre makes his way over to the couch and sets his sketchpad carefully on the coffee table. "Was it the one about good news?"

Combeferre smiles against the rim of his coffee mug. This, at least, Grantaire picks up on. "So what is it?"

"I told Enjolras," Combeferre says without hesitation, aiming for nonchalance, "about us. And he's completely fine with it. Nothing to worry about."

Grantaire looks at him, but it feels more like his gaze is burning right through Combeferre. He has a charcoal pencil in his hand and his fingers curl around it, knuckles white under his skin. "No you didn't."

Combeferre rests his coffee mug against his thigh. It's hot and the heat seeps quickly through the thin material of his pajama pants. It's not exactly the reaction he was expecting. "What do you mean, I didn't?"

"I mean you didn't tell him, because you promised me that you wouldn't get him involved," Grantaire says. His voice sounds oddly strained. When Combeferre turns to face him properly, Grantaire draws his legs further up against his chest. It makes Combeferre think of a wild animal, shrinking its surface area, folding in to protect itself from harm.

Combeferre frowns. "I didn't get him involved, I just told him -"

"Yeah, that's exactly what you did," Grantaire interrupts, "you told him, and - I mean, he's okay with it? You told him you're fucking me and he's fine with that?"

"I told him I was _dating_ someone but I didn't tell him your name," Combeferre says slowly, and Grantaire throws a hand up dismissively and pulls himself up off of the couch, responding over Combeferre's voice, "Oh, you didn't tell him my _name._ Well that's good, that explains why he's fucking _okay_ with it -"

"But he knows who I meant and -"

"So you didn't tell him," Grantaire says loudly, even once Combeferre's stopped talking, "you told him that you're fucking someone and you didn't tell him who, so he could think it's anybody, and now when you tell him he's going to..."

Grantaire gestures helplessly. Combeferre inhales slowly and sits forward, setting his mug carefully on the coffee table. Grantaire's pacing back and forth now and when Combeferre clears his throat he looks at him, eyes narrowed and accusatory. Combeferre looks back at him, calm and even, and says gently, "He's going to what, Grantaire? Tell me that he expected better?" When Grantaire doesn't respond, he continues carefully, "You know, he doesn't hate you. He knows you've been making an effort, he knows that you're a good man -"

Grantaire snorts suddenly and looks away. He takes a step toward the kitchen, then another, then stops and turns around. "I mean, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that Enjolras is my friend, and he has a right to know -"

"All of our friends have a right to know," Grantaire hisses, and points a finger at Combeferre, "but _you_ , you had no fucking right to tell him -"

"Why, Grantaire?" Combeferre stands up finally, ready to level the field while they talk. "Why don't I have a right to tell my best friend that I'm dating somebody and I'm happy about it? Is it selfish of me to want to be open with him about that?"

"It's selfish of you because you told him when I wasn't ready," Grantaire says venomously. When Combeferre moves toward him, Grantaire takes a step back. "Maybe if you'd waited until _somebody_ was ready, it wouldn't have been such a big deal."

"It's not a big deal, Grantaire!" Combeferre says exasperatedly. "The only one making a big deal about it is you. I mean, why are you so set against Enjolras knowing? Do you think it makes a difference in the end? Everybody's going to find out eventually. We're not exactly trying to hide it so why is it any different now that Enjolras knows?"

Grantaire doesn't say anything for several seconds. He continues his path into the kitchen and stops at the countertop, pressing his palms flat against it, the line of his body tense, taut like a string about to snap. Combeferre follows slowly and stands next to Grantaire, leaning his hip against the counter with a sigh. There's a dull ache forming in the back of his head and he wants to be able to wrap his arms around Grantaire and convince him to listen to reason, but the thought of Grantaire pulling away like he often does makes him cross his arms over his chest instead.

"Does it have something to do with how you felt about him?"

Grantaire seems to deflate suddenly. He doesn't look up at Combeferre yet, but scrubs his hand over his face and inhales, slow and deep. Combeferre's seen that tactic a million times in the hospital, patients and relatives and sometimes even staff members who want to appear calm and collected, and don't want other people to see them crying. Then Grantaire straightens up and turns to face him, red-eyed and resigned.

"No," he says quietly, "it's not about that. But I thought..." he pauses and lifts his hand, curls his fingers, and drops his fist by his side. The longer Combeferre watches him, the more he wishes Grantaire would just yell at him, just to get it all out, to tell him what he did wrong so that Combeferre can understand. He hates this thing that they do, this stubborn silence and inability to share thoughts like these without turning it into a shouting match.

Finally, Grantaire takes another breath and begins to step away. Combeferre wants to reach out, grab his arm, and make Grantaire face him. He wants to tell Grantaire it'll be okay, but now he's not so sure.

"I thought if I asked for this one thing, just... For you not to tell him..." Grantaire's speaking to the wall opposite them now; Combeferre wishes he could do more than cross his arms and listen. "But I guess I don't deserve that." When Grantaire turns around Combeferre studies him, hoping for something in his face. He finds nothing. Grantaire doesn't look sad or angry about it. He just looks.

Combeferre remembers seeing this expression just before Grantaire relapsed a second time.

"Grantaire."

"It's okay," Grantaire says. His expression doesn't change. "It's fine. Really. I know your relationship with him is more important."

"That's not true," Combeferre says immediately, but Grantaire waves a hand and Combeferre closes his mouth, reluctantly. He wishes he could do something to prove to Grantaire that it's different, that his relationship with Enjolras and his relationship with Grantaire are nothing alike and they're both of great importance to him.

Instead, he says nothing.

Grantaire nods again and walks back into the living room. He grabs his phone and a pack of cigarettes that are sitting on the coffee table and returns to the kitchen with his jacket. He shoves his boots on and when Combeferre steps forward Grantaire looks at him. Combeferre expects to see hardness in his eyes, or sadness, or anything, really, but again he finds nothing at all.

Grantaire says nothing, and the door shuts quietly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy #combeferregrantaire week, guys! Get wasted, paint a picture, and diagnose a patient or two in celebration... but maybe not in that order.


End file.
